


one good thing

by rainysatan



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Catra (She-Ra) Leaves the Horde, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra is Bad at Feelings (She-Ra), Catra is doing her best, Depression, F/F, Fix-It, Friendship, Insecurity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption is constantly reminding yourself not to snap and scratch people, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainysatan/pseuds/rainysatan
Summary: “Here we are, before the stars have returned to the empty vault of the sky. What can one do with knowledge of events that have yet to occur, but change the story?”Adora doesn't wake up. Catra goes back in time with the help of Etheria and the Heart to save Adora. Saving the world is just a byproduct.At least this time she has her therapy cat.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Entrapta & Scorpia (She-Ra), Catra & the Best Friends Squad, Catra & the Horde Cadets
Comments: 45
Kudos: 239





	1. heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Really wanted an angsty time-travel fic where Catra goes back in time and basically has to struggle with redemption in a sense all over again. So I wrote it.
> 
> Let me know if you catch any grammatical errors, or if you think anyone's too wildly out-of-character either in the comments or pms, please! I always hope that my stories go on to be an enjoyable, well-written read.

It begins a little like this.

The Heart of Etheria beats, and Adora’s eyes are shut, and then—

Catra wakes up.

Sudden— _jolting_ —as though she never closed her eyes to the encroaching light that sought to consume even the darkest parts of her. Sudden, as though she had never fallen to her knees to clutch onto the only thing left being good for, as though she had never huddled over Adora to shield her from the magic of the world itself set free in all its glorious, impartial chaos.

Sudden, disorienting, as though she stood up too fast—

She is standing and the walls are different. There’s a different kind of ruin surrounding her, draped in drab grays and darkness, so much darkness that her eyes fought to adjust beyond even the change of scenery—

Catra flexes her hand.

“Please, please—Catra, don’t do it!”

Her head shoots up. She squints with her slit pupils dilating, and she sees her then, Adora, She-Ra, surrounded by broken machinery, twisted pipes, but—

A nauseating sense of déjà vu prevails over her as she hears Adora, sees Hordak, and—and _Shadow Weaver_ —

“W-what is this?”

Quiet. It’s suddenly too quiet.

She flexes her hand again, looks down, and goes still.

 _This is a nightmare_ , she realizes suddenly.

The switch. The switch is in her hands. White noise chokes out all sound, though she can tell mouths are moving as her eyes fly around, wide and glowing in the muted light. Hordak. Adora. The _wrong_ She-Ra. _Shadow Weaver._

The switch.

Hordak roars again. It’s muffled, but she knows his demand. She still doesn’t pull the switch. She can’t, even, too shocked, too confused, because she’s back here, back to where her greatest mistake is about to be made, back to where no one cares for her, and Adora, her Adora, is not here.

The world has ended, begun again, and Catra’s about to start the countdown to its inevitable destruction once more.

 _Adora’s_ destruction _._

Catra hears Adora voice something. She doesn’t know what. All she can hear is the blood in her veins and her heartbeat like thunder given an erratic rhythm in her ears. This is all her fault. _Catra’s_ fault.

_I have never hated you!_

This has to be a nightmare.

The feeling of being displaced, disconnected, and grieving all at once makes Catra gasp and tremble. She flinches away from the lever and her breath comes out in frightened pants. She still can’t hear whatever they’re saying to her, but her wild eyes see the confusion in their postures, the rage in Hordak’s. She grips at her hair and feels the length; long, proud, a mane untouched and untamed by Horde Prime and his resurrection of her into his _Little Sister_. She feels unmade all over again, though, as she takes in Adora, who stares her down, unrecognizable, and—

Catra doesn’t pull the switch.

But the switch must have flipped anyways because a shockwave knocks everyone off their feet. Catra lays in the debris, eyes clenched shut, unbalanced in all ways as her ears pin back, before picking up a familiar noise. A portal. As if this, in itself, being returned to her most despicable point, wasn’t enough. The sound of it opening, the rush of wind as the mouth sucks in air to fill its void, and then—

Silence.

When she has enough of the dark, she peeks.

She sees with one eye open the switch still untouched. Hordak is struggling with a pipe, Shadow Weaver crumpled on the ground with a cracked mask, and Adora, staring at her—no, not her—

Melog warbles at her.

 _I’m here._

Catra barely keeps herself from crying.

“Catra!” 

Across the room, Adora reaches out as though she can touch Catra. Catra wants to say something, anything, but her voice catches in her throat. Melog interrupts her view of Adora, butting Catra’s head with their own.

Melog is the only thing Catra truly recognizes in this strange illusion. When their forehead rests on hers some deeply imbedded instinct tells Catra she can trust them, memory made into a nightmare or not. Catra grasps onto their neck weakly in a hug when they bow low before her and Melog purrs at her embrace. Their body is bristling, though, in response to Catra’s distress. 

_We will be okay. We will figure this out. Together,_ is what she gets from the reassurance Melog mewls at her.

Catra can’t function well enough to even think about being okay, let alone putting a name to whatever _this_ is. But she is grateful.

“Get me away from here,” Catra begs, instead of saying thank you.

Melog listens.

And all who remain in the room can only watch as the beast that came from the portal takes Catra and disappears. Left behind, the portal, with another debilitating shockwave that smashes Hordak into the wall and Adora and Shadow Weaver into more debris, closes.

Where Melog takes her to, Catra doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She clings to them, body taut, and just knows she wants away. She wants to wake up. She wants—

Catra wants Adora. _Her_ Adora. She wants _home_ even if she isn’t sure what home is. She knows she was close to finding out what home was for her.

But now Catra doesn’t know where she is. Either way, it doesn’t take a genius to know she is not where she’s supposed to be. The wind tugs at her, a howl in her pinned ears that she can’t understand. The trees rustle, a great crackling of branches as the breath of the world gusts over its surface in a roar. She feels its breath against her skin and beneath her fur.

Catra is alive, or at least she thinks she is, even if she doesn’t know _how_.

More importantly, _Etheria_ is alive.

But the Heart of Etheria took Adora from her, or maybe Catra from Adora—or maybe she’s really dead, they’re all dead, and this is her punishment for all the evil she’s wrought in the wrath borne of the worst of her jealousy and insecurities. Perhaps hell is just the acceptance of one’s own guilt, and then made to literally relive every single crime while intimately aware of the damage they’ve caused whilst committing them.

 _Stop_ , Melog implores when sensing her emotions, and they stop themselves, a cluttered bed of vines and odd plants and a wall of trees isolating them from the rest of this starless world yet to be broken by her. This is Catra’s _away_ , Melog has decided. Somewhere where there is only still life and no undue noise. Catra has enough going on in her head to fill in any silence, anyways.

Catra tries to stop her downward spiral, but, “It’s . . . it’s hard. Everything is—is wrong, Melog. I-I don’t even know if you’re _real,_ or if any of this is _real_ , and if it is—”

Melog meows plaintively as Catra claws at them unconsciously. Catra shuts her eyes, assailed by thoughts she should be used to, the self-deprecating kind that tear her down to that small stray that only ever got to stick around because Adora cared about her. It’s so hard to put her thoughts together.

 _If_ is the operative word here. _If_ it is real, then all of Catra’s efforts, all the genuine work she put into—to even begin redeeming herself has been undone, and she’s back to being the bad guy, the person who hurts Adora, who hurts Scorpia, who hurts Entrapta, who _hurts_ —

Who hurts everyone. Especially herself.

Catra exhales. The wind pulls at her fur, an audible whisper now. She freezes as the breeze carries this whisper into her ears.

“ _Perhaps that was true, once. But now you’re the only one who can save them._ ”

“What—who’s there?!” Catra shoots up, off of Melog. Melog vibrates harshly with a growl at the voice that echoes all around them. There is no obvious speaker as Catra breathes shakily and looks everywhere while Melog looks everywhere _else_. There are no shadows behind the trees and no disturbances in the grass. She can’t see anything at all to give her a direction as to where the voice came from.

But Melog heard it too. She’s not hallucinating.

She’s _not_.

“Whoever you are, I’m really not in the mood for hide and seek! So come out, or else. . .” she trails off, letting the threat hang there.

There is no immediate reply.

The night is starless. There are no glitches, and everything is not perfect. Whatever this is, she doesn’t think it’s a rerun of the portal at least. She knows the smell of magic, of a broken reality; you don’t come out of an error in the universe like that unscathed, with nothing to show for it after embracing the wreckage. But whoever is speaking to her is something beyond her, beyond her sense of smell and sight. She couldn’t be losing her mind.

But everything is broken. Has she already lost it and just hasn’t realized it? How else could one explain her situation and the voices she hears?

“ _This is real._ I _am real, child._ ”

Catra clenches her jaw as the voice finally resounds again. It’s everywhere and nowhere and she spins about in her search. Melog paces around her in a protective circle while their form grows and distorts with angry jagged edges.

Still, there is nothing.

She tries to make sense of everything. The Heart of Etheria exploded, and the world, well, who knows. But she’s hearing voices now, and the voices can hear her thoughts. She must have broken her mind, finally snapped, and is punishing herself the way she deserves, because it’s the only explanation for this, the torment of a phantom whispering to her and her being displaced in time.

It’s all in her head.

“ _If you were meant to relive your mistakes you would have pulled the lever._ ”

Catra blinks, narrows her eyes. So maybe she’s a little off. But. “The portal still opened,” she points out sourly to the voice in her head.

“ _Not ‘the’ portal but a portal, yes. One of my own making, not yours._ ”

“Okay, but who even are you?” Catra demands, straining in the dark to see, as if her mind would give her a face to this voice. “And why am I here? _What_ is here, even?”

“ _You know who I am. You were with me but a few moments but I know your face, and that of your love’s. As to why you’re here . . . you’re the only one who can make a difference._ ”

Catra’s fur stands on end as she hisses. “What the hell do you mean, _love_? And how is that supposed to be an answer? I don’t know you!”

“ _Your love, our She-Ra, who released me. You, who were born on my face, who feels me breathe, who sought both my destruction and salvation, you should know my name. You have seen my heart and have been made a part of it. Tell me, who do you think I am?_ ”

Oh.

Catra’s tail freezes, and she can’t even protest the blatant accusation ( _reveal_ ) of her having feelings for her best friend, because it comes to her then.

_Oh._

“Etheria,” Catra breathes.

“ _Indeed._ ”

“B-but why me, why are you talking to _me_? What do you mean a part of you?” Catra struggles to grasp all the questions spinning in her head. Melog settles against her, brushing up against her as their coat shifts to something not quite placid but neither is it angry. Catra draws a blank. “And why am I here and not Adora? She’s the one who tried to save you! You can’t really think I can—can make a difference, right? I-I only ever make things worse.”

The air warms as though to combat the cold that had stricken Catra but she’s always been her own worst enemy, and she swallows thickly, hunching over until she drops to the ground to fist the grass to steady herself, voice of Etheria be damned. “It’s because of _me_ that Horde Prime tried to take your heart for himself. Because of me, Adora—!”

“ _Because of you she will survive._ ”

Catra’s pauses, swallows. Something flickers in her peripherals. “What do you mean?”

“ _Here we are, before the stars have returned to the empty vault of the sky. What can one do with knowledge of events that have yet to occur, but change the story?_ ”

Catra sucks in a harsh breath, raising her head as the flickering intensifies. Her pupils shrink at the lights that have sprinkled the clearing like tiny lanterns. Fireflies. Melog bats at the ones who drift too close curiously. They float around, but in an obvious sort of way, as though guided, or with a direction in mind, and it proves true when they develop into a bright swarm of lights that form the vague outline of a woman.

Etheria, in a shape better understood by Catra, inclines her head, a torch in the dark. There’s something about seeing, feeling even, the presence and magic of the world before you that changes the way you see things. Catra understands that now, even if before she never knew it was something to comprehend.

“How?” Catra whispers and suddenly there’s no doubt in her mind that this is real. The very soul of Etheria is before her, kind and pure in a way she knows mothers should be, and forgiving in a way Shadow Weaver never was.

The world extends her hand to Catra, and Catra stares at it owlishly.

“ _With your help. There is_ good _in you_ , Catra. _That good will save lives that were thought lost, if you’d only believe in it. In yourself. Believe that I chose you because you are the one who is most capable of changing this sad tale of ours._ ”

Melog paws at the glowing hand and tilts their head at Catra. Catra doesn’t know whether it’s in question or encouragement because Melog is giving off both ideas in equal measure.

At least they trust this. Catra herself still isn’t sure because it goes against everything she thinks of herself, to think that she could make things better. Shadow Weaver made monsters of the doubts in her head; she knows this, but knowing doesn’t stop them from existing.

But she doesn’t have anything else to go off of and has no words, because there’s another part of her—small, tiny, scared, wrapped up in the comfort of a gap-toothed Adora hugging her—that _hopes_ for better. Because _this_ , this is beyond her ability to describe. To think that the world itself, who Catra knows she has hurt terribly, has decided that Catra is the one who will save it. To think that the world, _Etheria_ , believes in her, will even give her the chance to make things _right._

 _That’s one point to this being just a hallucination,_ Catra ticks off bitterly, because who in their right mind thinks _she_ should be trusted with the fate of the world and the future itself?

Adora, probably.

Catra ignores that thought. “But why is this necessary if you were set free?”

The light that personifies the world itself dims. “ _She-Ra and you had fallen. Horde Prime was free to continue his tyranny, for I was too weak even in my fresh freedom to fend him off alone and he too many steps ahead for me to mitigate what he had stolen from me._ ”

Right. The Heart of Etheria had beat again but Horde Prime had already begun corrupting it. Catra knows deep down that the guardian had hurt Adora too badly for even her, for She-ra, to survive its reemergence. Catra knows that alongside Adora she must have gone as well. Should have.

But instead she’s here in the past, back to the beginning. What amounts to it, anyway, in the end of the world scheme of things. 

But it’s hard to believe.

 _Was I really given a second chance and not Adora?_ she asks herself, hesitating as she begins to lift her hand to the light of nature. _Do I even deserve it?_

The answer is a resounding _no_ in Catra’s mind, but somehow Catra can hear, deep in the burrows of the earth, Etheria answer her in her entirety. It must have been from her proximity to the heart unleashing because she can hear the soul and heart of the planet in her ears as if it were the mother Shadow Weaver never was, and her strained heartbeat begging Catra to set her free once more.

But _why Catra_ —

“ _Adora may have seemed the obvious option, but she’s already shouldered so, so much, and to take you and not her would have rendered you the same as before, and your suffering only ever expounded hers._ ” Etheria explains, Catra’s mind open to the world.

And Catra gets it, gets that if _Adora_ were the one to go back, then Catra, the Catra who only ever understood betrayal and rage and abuse, would still be a major antagonist, one who expedited the downfall of the hero.

“ _You caused so much damage in your desire to hurt her,_ ” and it hurts to hear that, but it is true, so Catra only grits her teeth for once and continues to listen, Melog agitated at her side. “ _But reverse that and think of what you can_ protect _in your desire to save her._ ”

And what goes unsaid is this—

Who else would break reality to spite Adora, to make a wish in the fragments just so that Adora would stay? Who would go against the conqueror of galaxies, sacrifice herself, to keep Adora safe? Who else would _stay_ , when Adora _went_ , and who else would give her life to save Adora when Adora was too busy saving everyone else?

Because where Adora was selfishly selfless, incapable of thinking of herself outside of the unit, and what martyring herself meant to those who cared for her (namely Catra), Catra only cared to be selflessly selfish, because—

Because what would Etheria be without Adora? 

What would Catra be without Adora?

 _Nothing_.

And with the profound quickening of her heartbeat, Catra knows this is real.

Because she understands now. Catra _can_ save Adora. She can stop the failsafe from claiming Adora, stop the backlash from the Heart from killing her, and if she has to save the world to save Adora too, then, well, it happens if it happens.

And maybe, just maybe, if Catra felt like it, she can be a better person this time around, while she's at it.

“What do I do?”

The head of the glowing silhouette only nods to her hand.

Catra reaches out, standing. She takes the hand of the world and she feels Etheria’s kiss on her forehead like the missing sun breaking through the void. Slowly, as Catra remains frozen from the affection of an entire world, the fireflies disperse into the night. Soon she and Melog are alone save for a few stray fireflies.

The wind whispers one more time but only Catra understands the faith it murmurs into her ears.

“ _You are the keeper of my heart, now, but you must follow your own. Only it can tell you what must be done._ ”

And then there is silence.

Catra stares unseeingly into the Whispering Woods.

_Really? That’s it?_

She kind of expected more and Etheria must know that was stupidly vague, but Catra feels the departure of Etheria in both mind and soul. She knows questioning further will result in her just talking to the empty air.

So what is she supposed to do with that? What did any of it mean?

Catra’s the _keeper_ of Etheria’s heart?

She stands there disconnected for a time untold before blinking and looking to her companion. “Huh. Melog.”

Melog tilts their head curiously, pausing in their pursuit of the remaining fireflies. 

“Thank you. For coming, and for staying.” Catra begins, haltingly. Melog trills, almost seeming to smile, but Catra doesn’t stop there. “And Melog?”

Melog _mrrumphs_ questioningly. 

“I’ve got a lot of making up to do. And I think I know where to start.”

Melog tilts their head but trots after Catra when she starts to retrace their trail back to the Fright Zone. Catra looks ahead, her eyes two glowing beacons in the dark as she considers her first move and her first act in redeeming herself.

Adora has the Best Friend Squad, but Catra has her own trio she needs to put back together.

“You think if I bring Emily it’ll make it easier?” Catra asks Melog. Melog gives the equivalent of a mental shrug. “Yeah, you never knew her, did you? Guess we'll just have to see."


	2. the first step of the last journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpia freaks out, then freaks out some more, and then doesn't know if she should freak out a third time because: (1) Catra was kidnapped by a giant (apparently FRIENDLY) cat, (2) Catra and Scorpia are now defecting, and (3) they're supposedly going to save the world (and maybe the universe)?!
> 
> (feat. Emily, Lonnie, Rogelio, and, of course, one (1) anxious beanstalk we like to call Kyle.)

Scorpia is freaking out.

First, it turns out the portal was a bomb! But Entrapta figured that out, even though no one knew that was a potential possibility, so it was all good. But then Wildcat zaps Entrapta, SHIPS HER OFF TO BEAST ISLAND, and goes to have Lord Hordak set it off anyways!

But that doesn’t happen, so all good right?

EXCEPT Wildcat is gone. Taken by another, bigger, scarier cat from a portal that Catra didn’t open, but one that opened anyways.

According to Lord Hordak, Force Captain Catra was likely victim to whatever manner of creature that came through and he wasn’t going to devote any resources to her recovery. 

Scorpia knows Catra must have been scared, felt guilty, the weight of her actions catching up to her. She knows deep down Catra doesn’t _want_ to be cruel, but the Horde has a way of twisting people, breaking them all in different ways. Catra’s damage just shows itself in breaking things further, a bid to give her some measure of control over the way the world seems to keep hurting her.

And since Catra is that way, and no one can see underneath the fangs and claws sharpened by the harshness of the Horde, Scorpia’s pretty sure she’s the only one who cares enough to go looking for her. So that’s what she’s doing—right now, that is.

 _Except_ she might be lost. In the Whispering Woods. Scorpia swears she was following Catra’s trail but then the trees moved and the grass with it and now the tracks are nowhere to be seen. She hears rumbling, whispers of hungry critters eating away at the silence, but somehow anything hungry that picks its way through the forest doesn’t find her.

Scorpia only hopes Catra has the same luck.

Scorpia sighs, clambering over a large root when she catches sight of a firefly flittering close. She furrows her brow and holds up a pincer up carefully. The firefly hovers around the limb as though a bee to a flower. “Hey little guy,” she whispers loudly, trying not to frighten it. It buzzes quietly, settling on the hard chitin. “Well, aren’t you friendly?”

“Scorpia? What are— _woah!_ ”

Scorpia shrieks and her stinger lashes out instinctively. She whirls around as she hears a squeaky shout in response.

She sees Catra shoot away from her.

“Wildcat?!”

Catra grunts from the crouched position she’s taken on the forest floor. Her tail is lashing in offense at the near stinging. “Nice to see you too. What are you even doing out here? I thought I’d have to go all the way to the Fright Zone to find you.”

“I-I was looking for you! Where have you been?” Scorpia scoops Catra up into a crushing hug before Catra can manage to evade her pincers. “Are you okay?! I’ve been so worried!”

Ignoring Catra’s struggling, Scorpia holds her fellow captain up and scans her for injuries and anything else out of place. Scorpia lets out a huge breath of relief when not a hair is out of place on Catra’s head, though Catra’s kitty ears are flat against her scalp as she glares dourly at Scorpia for her manhandling.

“I’m fine, Scorpia.”

Scorpia finally lets Catra settle back onto the ground. Her exhale is full of relief as she wipes her brow. “Oh, gosh, oh, man, I’m so glad you’re okay, what happened? Hordak told me you were kidnapped by a big— _CAT!_ ”

Scorpia picks Catra up and twirls her to place the bewildered girl behind her. With Catra securely hidden from view, Scorpia defensively raises two snapping pincers at the large, glowing feline that stalks forward, rumbling. “Stay back, Wildcat, I got this! I won’t let it take you again!”

“That’s Melog,” Catra says dryly, putting a hand on Scorpia’s tense arm and stepping forward to greet Melog with a hand on his head. “And they’re a friend.”

“Huhwha?” Scorpia balks, retreating as the big cat— _Melog,_ apparently—sidles up next to her anyways and purring audibly. Scorpia hesitantly drops her arms. Catra, admitting so easily that she was friends with this cat that just showed up? That kinda stung. Still. . . “I mean are—are you sure about this Wildcat? It sounds cute and all but it did kind of take off with you without a word and— _aww. . ._ ”

Melog is rubbing their head into Scorpia’s pincers. It mimics a sneeze that sounds suspiciously like Catra’s.

“Okay, I’ll admit it, they’re kind of _really_ cute, but, no, really, what’s going on, Catra?”

Scorpia tries to focus on Catra but all she can see in the dark is the gleam of Catra’s gaze as she glances over her shoulder at Scorpia. Scorpia pushes froward. “You didn’t pull the switch. You sent Entrapta to Beast Island,” Scorpia thinks she sees Catra flinch, tail wrapping around herself, “but you didn’t even pull the switch. And I’m glad you didn’t, really! But after everything, and this big, glowy, magic cat thingy. . . why? What’s going on? What happened in there?”

Catra is quiet for a long moment, and Scorpia steps closer, around, to face Catra. Closing the distance between them lets her see Catra hunch in on herself. Melog follows and the nearing radiance from their cool blue body illuminates Catra in depressing hues. She’s almost smaller than usual, refusing to lift her head.

“Scorpia, do you . . . do you still trust me?”

Scorpia blinks. And she hesitates, but something in her tells her she still can, so she nods. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

Scorpia doesn’t say always because, for a good minute there, she wasn’t sure Catra wouldn’t turn on her, too, but something’s changed. She trusts her gut when it says so.

There’s a sardonic laugh from Catra and its squeaky in the way Scorpia thinks is adorable, yet there’s a touch of bitterness to it that keeps her from enjoying it. When Catra speaks again, her voice is slow, careful, any almost brittle.

“I’ve got a story for you, Scorpia, but first we need to get Entrapta back.”

Scorpia stiffens, both surprise and elation crossing her face. “R-really? You mean it, Wildcat?” At Catra’s nod, she whoops. “Yeah! I knew you’d come around! But, uh, what changed your mind?”

Catra rubs her neck at Scorpia’s beaming smile. “Let’s just say I’ve realized I haven’t been the greatest . . . f-f-friend, and Melog here is helping me with it. There’s, uh, there’s a lot at stake here, and . . . and I need help. I need _your_ help, if you’re still willing to help me after everything I’ve done. I need to apologize—to you, and to Entrapta, for everything to, and I understand if you _don’t_ want to help me anymore—”

Scorpia doesn’t let her finish. She can see the glimmer of tears in Catra’s eyes, knows she’s struggling, and she tugs her into another hug before settling her pincers on Catra’s shoulders. Catra’s eyes are huge when Scorpia smiles at her, small and serious.

“I forgive you, Wildcat,” Scorpia says, and she means it. From what she’s seen Catra doesn’t do things halfway when she sets her mind to it; if she’s apologizing, something Scorpia’s _never_ heard Catra do, she _means_ it. “I don’t know what’s going on but I trust you. If you want to go and make up with Entrapta, there’s nothing that would make me happier. Lead the way, Captain.”

Catra huffs before managing the tiniest sliver of a smile herself. “That’s another thing I should mention, Scorpia. . .”

Dark claws pry off the Force Captain’s badge affixed to Catra’s person, and there’s a moment where Catra stares down at it with what’s maybe misery, hissing a tick, before she flicks it into the woods. The grass turns into teeth, the ground opening up to swallow it gladly before it can land. Scorpia stares at the spot the badge disappeared into uneasily.

The Whispering Woods doesn’t care much for the Horde.

“We’re defecting.”

Scorpia gapes. “What?”

“Yeah. Long story, but the Horde is part of something bigger, worse than anyone knows, like enslave and end worlds kinda bad, y’know? So, we’re not going to do that. I’m also not willing to believe that the portal Melog came through didn’t send out a signal to Horde Prime, or that Hordak won’t try while we go get Entrapta, so we’re still going to plan for the enslavement and annihilation of all life as we know it in the meantime. Even if it took Sparkles unlocking the Heart of Etheria to show him exactly where we were, I don't want to chance anything bringing him here early.”

Again, Scorpia’s mouth flaps uselessly as sweat accumulates on her brow. “Uh. Okay. Hold on a minute. _What?_ ”

“Don’t worry,” Catra’s waves a hand dismissively, making her way past Scorpia. The overhanging foliage parts for them whereas Scorpia had to duck beforehand. Is it just her, or do the Woods, like, like Catra or something? Because Scorpia could totally understand that, she’d just, like for them to like her too. As it is, she trips after Catra in a stupor. “I’ll explain it on the way to the Fright Zone.”

“The—the Fright Zone?”

“Well I did say we were going to get Entrapta, didn’t I? We need a boat and it’s not like the Rebellion is going to lend us one on faith.”

Scorpia shakes her head of the cobwebs, literally, as she trails after Catra. “Right, right, yeah,” That, at least, she understands. “But aren’t we defecting?”

“They don’t know that yet.”

“ _Ohhh_. Right. Gotcha. Smart.”

* * *

It’s surprisingly easy making their way to and through the Fright Zone. They don’t even need Melog to cloak them though the cat themselves remains hidden. Even without her badge, everyone fears Catra enough to make themselves scarce at the mere sight of her it, and she would feel bad about it— _will_ , even, later, in privacy—but their fear serves a purpose currently, allowing her and Scorpia to continue unimpeded.

They stalk the empty halls quietly. Behind Catra, Scorpia fidgets uneasily with her newfound status as a deserter, and as a guardian of Etheria, not that anyone else knows. They don’t meet anyone on the way despite Scorpia’s trepidation. Catra figures everyone else is stationed elsewhere to begin the ever-endless repairs the Fright Zone requires, especially in the wake of the portal Melog came through. Most of the Horde’s equipment is hopefully on the fritz. It wouldn’t be unbelievable; the portal Catra opened overloaded so many systems she was up to her neck in managing the tech teams coming to her with complaints. Not even the Imp makes an appearance to summon Catra to Hordak, so recent was the portal fiasco.

Emily chirrups uncertainly when Scorpia and Melog enter the room harboring the remnants of the AI’s maker, Catra on their heels. Catra hesitates before crossing the threshold, remembering all to well how she betrayed the one the room belonged to.

Emily doesn’t react well to her presence. The AI skitters along the edges of the room when she senses Catra’s approach. Catra can’t stop the frown at her retreat. She’s weighed down with remorse as she hones in on the scratches she left on Emily’s shell, noticing the paint chipping at the edges of the marks.

Standing in the middle of the room while Emily takes cover behind a pile of scrap, Catra considers what to say, tail hitting at her shins. Melog is a steady presence at her side. Scorpia takes initiative, moving closer to Emily’s poor hiding spot.

At least with Scorpia Emily does not retreat.

The AI beeps nervously, still, but Scorpia holds up her pincers placatingly. “We’re not going to hurt you, Emily. Catra isn’t going to hurt you.” Scorpia glances furtively at Catra to ensure that is the case, which Catra nods. “And Melog is a new friend! But, Catra actually has something she wants to say to you. Are you okay with that? Will you listen?”

Emily swivels, rotating her mainframe to center the purple light in the front of her shell on Catra. She twists her spherical body between her and Catra, nervously, but slowly moves back and forth in a nod.

Catra’s ears pivot backwards and she grimaces. She’s starting to think apologies will always be difficult for her.

Still she swallows, closes her eyes, and forces herself to start anyways. “Hey, Emily. I know that you . . . you probably don’t want to see me. And that’s fair. I’m pretty awful.”

There’s clicks from Emily and Catra can’t begin to understand what they mean. Whether or not the robotic chatter is positive or negative, it helps her push on, having some sort of response. “Look, I have done . . . a lot of things, that I shouldn’t have, that deep down, I didn’t even really want to, but that doesn’t change the fact that I did. I did those things. And a lot of times, I hurt people. Like Entrapta. Like _you_.”

Catra heaves a sigh, peeking. Scorpia is sparkling, pincers held under her chin, and there’s unmistakable pride shining on her face. It’s hard to look at, knowing how cruel she’d been to Scorpia, especially at this point in time. Emily, though, is expressionless, which was a given, but she’s moved out from behind her cover, focused on Catra.

That’s—that’s a good sign, right?

Suddenly, Catra’s aware Emily could blast her into pieces with Catra leaving herself open and vulnerable in her wish to begin amends. It would be all too easy for the AI to—no. Catra fights the instinct to close up, hiss at this weakness she’s still struggling to accept. It is with unspeakable effort that she keeps her claws retracted, knowing that Emily would notice and only be reminded of Catra’s abuse, of the wickedness that still lingers underneath the surface of Catra’s fur, her skin, like poison in her veins.

Catra holds her breath, then exhales, taking pointers from the advice that Perfuma has given her in the quiet moments they were allowed.

“I just—I know, now, that I haven’t been good. I know that I’ve been—” Catra’s mind flashes to the future that she’s changing, her eyes finding Scorpia’s, and Scorpia is overlayed by the disappointed visage of her not too far from this moment. Catra clenches her fists, struggling as her tail lashes, a deep ache burrowing into her chest. “. . . a bad friend. A bad _person_. And I want to change. I want to . . . maybe not fix what I’ve done, but make it better. And more than that, I want to _be_ better. And I know to start doing that, I have to say . . . I have to say I’m _sorry_.”

Catra’s eyes open and finds Emily’s light shining at her, intense in the glow that will never unveil to Catra what the AI is feeling, and her gaze falls to the scratches on the face of Emily’s shell. “I am _so_ sorry, for hurting you, for hurting Entrapta. You don’t have to forgive me. I’m not going to ask you to. But I do—I do want to ask for your help. Because I have to apologize to Entrapta too . . . and so many others. I have to make things _right_. For _everyone_.”

“Wildcat. . .”

Catra glances to Scorpia but is surprised to find her blurry. Even through the smear of colors, she thinks Scorpia seems sad. “What, Scorpia— _oh_.”

Catra’s cheeks tickle. She raises a hand, rubs at them, then stares down at the pads of her fingers numbly. They’re damp. She’s crying. She feels hollow, at this show of weakness, with no visible wound to show for it even though she feels like she’s bleeding out.

She can’t believe she’s falling apart right now.

In the midst of trying to shove the tears down, there’s the clatter of Emily’s legs on the floor. She gasps when Emily beeps at her plaintively, bumping against her. Melog puts a paw on the bot to keep her from clumsily knocking Catra over but otherwise allows Emily to nudge against her. Catra blinks down at Emily, unsure of what this gesture meant, but the heavy claw of Scorpia falls on her shoulder and Scorpia is beaming.

“I think that means she forgives you.” Scorpia informs her.

Catra makes her promise not to tell anyone how she bawls at that.

* * *

When Catra’s recuperated enough to regain her unapproachable aura, and explained enough to get Emily to roll along with them to the docks, they leave the safety of the room. Melog falls back into transparency when they enter the hallway and they stride confidently to the Horde's harbor—or Catra does. Scorpia is still pretty antsy, and Emily is rolling. The docks are mostly empty as with everywhere else when Catra’s group gets to them, though Catra’s ears swivel when she hears something hit the ground with a heavy _thunk._

Kyle’s unmistakable whine follows.

“Aw, _mannn_.”

Of course, Kyle. She shakes her head almost fondly.

She’s about to carry on her way as they round the corner, but Catra pauses as she sees Kyle struggle uselessly to lift the crate he dropped from the ship ramp onto a nearby pulley. She hears the grumbling of Rogelio and Lonnie’s grunt from the deck of the ship they’re unloading, Kyle’s predicament outside of their range. Catra watches quietly for a long moment. She wonders why he still bothers when she’s sure even he knows his scrawny body is incapable of it.

“Uh, Wildcat? What’re you doing?”

Catra glances at Scorpia then back to Kyle, who has yet to spot them. “Hang on a sec.”

Scorpia raises a brow as Catra pads over to Kyle. “Uh, okay.”

Kyle’s still struggling with the crate when Catra nears him. He lets out a frankly embarrassing _"eep!’"_ at Catra’s appearance. He flinches away when she reaches out, squinting his eyes shut and raising his hands to protect his face. “M-my apologies, Force Captain Catra, I—!”

He hears the creak of wood, the heave of a breath and the thump of wood onto metal, and he blinks his eyes open when he notices that Catra hasn’t hurt him but has instead lifted the crate from the ground and onto the pulley. He gapes while the feared Force Captain and his former squadmate is now stares at him inscrutably.

She looks different.

Wait.

“W-where’s your badge?” he asks without thinking, too caught off-guard by her surprising act of kindness to filter his thoughts.

Catra’s eyes dart to her badge-less uniform and back to him. She shrugs without a trace of irritation on her face.

Weird. That’s weird. Kyle’s sure anyone else would agree with him, too, that it’s weird. Catra is either mean, bored, or taking joy in the misery of others. Not talking to him like he’s worth a minute of her time.

“Lost it.”

“Oh.” Kyle drops his hands. He realizes that Catra’s done his job for him, now that the spike of adrenaline is ebbing. “T-thanks? For picking up the crate, I mean.” Then he realizes something else. “Are—wait, are you _okay_? It’s been hours since you were last seen! We were told you were eaten by a giant cat!”

Catra blinks. “Oh, right. That. No, I’m fine. The cat’s friendly.”

“Oh, that’s—that’s good?” Kyle scuffs his shoe against the metal plating of the dock, awkward.

Catra _never_ just talks to him. Nobody besides Rogelio and Lonnie, and sometimes Scorpia now, talks to him. Unless they’re yelling at him. But Catra isn’t being mean to him for once. She isn’t yelling at him, either, even helped him—

Something’s wrong with Catra. That’s the only explanation for her sudden show of decency to Kyle of all people. There’s no advantage in being nice to him, so obviously something’s wrong.

He jumps back from Catra, sweating. “Oh, no, did it brainwash you?! You’re being . . . you’re being really nice right now. You’re _never_ nice!”

Right then Kyle gets the idea that he might have screwed up. Catra’s jaw flexes and she huffs a breath through her nose that can only be angry when he questions her. And honestly, why would he scream out his suspicions like that? Oh, man, he was going to be murdered right here, right now, clawed right in the throat—

But no, Catra is just sighing. Frustration creases her brow rather than rage. “I know. I’ve been kind of an asshole, haven’t I?” Catra admits lowly, something faint lingering in her tone as her gaze goes foggy. Shaking her head, she grudgingly continues, “Okay. Listen, I’m . . . sorry. About that. Being an asshole, I mean.”

Kyle stills and his face pinches in confusion. He doesn’t know whether to be concerned or scared about this version of Catra who’s suddenly so much more pleasant than memory serves him. “Why are you—?”

Lonnie and Rogelio thud down the ramp with hasty steps, having finally become aware of Kyle, and more importantly, Catra in front of Kyle. “Kyle, what did you get yourself into now? Whatever he did, I can assure you Force Captain, we will make sure—”

“At ease.”

Lonnie and Rogelio look between each other nervously and lower their hands from the quick salutes they scrounged up. Catra’s tone is off, they notice it too. That doesn’t make Kyle feel any more relaxed. “Right, Force Captain. Is there anything we can help with?”

Catra is quiet for a moment, considering. Then her ears perk up. “Actually,” a small smirk, no, a smile, curves Catra’s lips. “I need a crew, and who better than you guys?”

“I’m sorry?” Lonnie asks, befuddled. “A crew for what?”

“I need to go to Beast Island.”

That’s a red flag. Lonnie and Rogelio narrow their eyes, suspicious. Lonnie folds her arms against her chest.

“No disrespect meant,” Lonnie starts—she’s lying, full disrespect implied in her tone, but Catra doesn’t call her out on it. “But why? That doesn’t exactly sound like something anyone would want to volunteer for.”

“Let’s just say I screwed up,” Catra says.

And that’s new, Catra admitting to a failure, a shortcoming of her own volition. It pulls them in in their curiosity and keeps them listening.

Catra continues, “I haven’t the greatest to you guys, or in general, and I’m sure that isn’t a shock to you.”

Lonnie can’t hide her snort nor the surprise on her face when Catra doesn’t so much as glare at her for her insolence. Their Force Captain draws herself up instead, taking a deep breath as if she were bracing herself to go under water.

“But— _ugh_ —this is actually really hard for me to say—but I need your help.”

“Our help?” Kyle repeats brainlessly. The cadets look between themselves, stunned at the feared Force Captain’s confession. “Does that include me?” Kyle points to himself.

“Why do you need our help?” Lonnie questions. “There’s thousands of other soldiers you could pick. Why us?”

Catra rubs at her neck. “I need capable people besides Scorpia here because what I’m going to be doing is bigger than anything before, and I’m not so egotistical as to think I can do it alone. And as much as I’ve always put you guys down in the past, and . . . been a general nuisance and bully. . . we grew up together. No one else knows what it’s like to struggle day by day to, just, get by, hoping for things to get better until they beat that hope out of us.

“Because what happened with the portal, something changed for me then. Changed how I saw things, the things I’ve done, and myself. . . And it might sound cheesy, but . . . I think I found that hope again.”

Rogelio and Lonnie don’t know what to think about what they’re hearing, but—

Cheesily enough, Kyle listens with his heart.

Catra’s words are tugging at him in a place easily bruised and easily broken but a place he has always managed to keep unguarded despite the Horde’s teachings otherwise. It’s weird, but in this moment, he feels closer to Catra than he ever has. He’s a witness to this vulnerability that she’s allowing them to see while she admits she’s as flawed as the rest of them.

While he’s listening, the rest of his squad watches on, unsure of what to say as Catra continues on.

“It’s shown me that we can’t keep going on this way. Hurting each other and other just because we were taught that it’s survival of the fittest and Hordak’s will. And I’m not stupid, you’re not stupid. What we’re doing is bad. We all know it. And if we keep on this way? We’re going to lose more than this war even if it looks like we’re winning.”

Lonnie shakes her head, interjecting, “Hang on a minute, what the heck are you going on about?” she demands derisively, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re starting to sound like you don’t believe in the Horde anymore.”

Catra doesn’t say anything. She does, however, tilt her head defiantly.

It’s obvious she doesn’t.

Kyle gasps loudly and his hands fly up to cover his mouth. Over Rogelio’s grumbling, Lonnie’s jaw goes slack. She shakes her head slowly at Catra. “You . . . don’t. You’re—you’re a _deserter_? You? After everything, after _Adora?_ You would do the same thing she did?”

“Is there a problem here, Force Captain Catra? _Cadet_ Lonnie?”

Scorpia finally comes around the corner, Emily in tow, no longer willing to eavesdrop when the conversation seems to be taking a turn for the worse. The cadets notice how Scorpia’s tail is poised to strike at a moment’s notice, her arms crossed and flexed in her tense state. All three cadets freeze at the sight of her.

Catra studies Lonnie, ears angled backwards. “No problem here, Scorpia. But Lonnie, do think about it. We were taught no one cares about us. That we were _expendable_. We were only ever worth anything as long as we proved our usefulness.” Catra sighs and rubs her arm. “We were taken as children. We were made into soldiers and never given the chance to be _people_ , to make mistakes without being punished.”

A wretchedness crosses Catra’s features, misery and pain etched in her eyes as that statement strikes up something personal within Catra. Then she turns to Kyle. “You know this, Kyle, same as I do.”

Kyle flinches.

“And I know, believe me that I know, that you don’t trust me. Maybe you never will. But you can’t tell me that you’re happy here. And you can’t tell me you believe Hordak thinks anything more of you than just some poor war orphans he repurposed into conquering and destroying more families.”

Holding up her hand, Catra nearly pleads with them, with Kyle. “This is hard for me to say, but please. Come with me. I won’t force you. But I could really use the help.”

Kyle looks at her. He drops his eyes down to her hand after facing her earnestness. Rogelio and Lonnie, they’re grumbling, taking steps back at the lunacy Catra’s spouting.

But Kyle, he kind of thinks she’s making sense.

He wants to take a step forward. He’s never ventured beyond the safety of Rogelio and Lonnie, never taken a risk that was all his _own_. And he knows if he steps forward, he’ll be alone for that split second, and maybe every second after. Lonnie and Rogelio have too much animosity towards Catra, always have, and they won’t take that step themselves, not on their own, not for Catra.

But. . .

But Catra is speaking the truth he always whispered to himself in the rare moments he was alone, the thoughts he always pushed to the back of his mind to make up justifications for the abuse and cruelty that the Horde as a whole, as an ideal, subjected them too.

Catra suffered too, he knows this. She’s suffered worse than anyone Kyle knows, really, but no one ever paid attention like Kyle did. Catra was too mean for him to ever say anything though, all fang and claws and hissing at any show of kindness towards her that didn’t come from Adora. She was always making trouble, always being punished, and always taking out her rage on others.

And the sad bit is, a part of him twisted by the Horde thought she must have brought it on herself. But later, later he always feels bad, and he instead thinks about maybe if Catra had been nicer, reached out before, Kyle would have had a real friend who understood. Or, if he’s feeling brave, Kyle thinks about how maybe if _he_ had reached out, been less of a coward, maybe Catra would have been nicer. It wouldn’t have been easy and it would have taken time, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his own issues could be solved in one day, and Catra’s could _probably_ take a lifetime.

But she’s reaching out now, and so, as two victims of abuse often do, he reaches back.

Maybe their shared experiences will make them stronger together, now that they know they can overcome them. Or maybe he’s just being Kyle, and thinking silly things again.

When he takes her hand Catra is shocked by his boldness, because even though she must have hoped for this she surely didn’t expect it; he can see it in the way her tail stops its nervously-paced swaying abruptly, twitching at the tip before dropping to her thigh.

Kyle explains his decision away at her wide-eyed look, over Lonnie and Rogelio’s loud protests, “You said sorry. You apologized. I-I think that’s all I ever needed to hear from someone, really.”

And who would ever apologize to weak, useless Kyle?

“A-and everything you’re saying, it’s true. I’ve always known it,” and he looks over his shoulder to his squad, their searching, bewildered eyes wide themselves at his blooming independence, “ _we’ve_ always known it. . . but I didn’t think I could do anything to change it. But you think you can?”

Catra hesitates before clenching Kyle’s hand. Strange, that it doesn’t hurt, that Catra is now capable of a touch that doesn’t raise bruises or split skin. Her hand is surprisingly small, in his, and Catra is just as small as Kyle, really. It’s a testament to how real this is, to Catra’s sincere change of heart that she allows him this close. She holds his gaze evenly.

“I know I can.”

Lonnie balks behind Kyle. “You guys are crazy. _Crazy!_ You’re talking about leaving the Horde, and leaving the Horde is _betraying_ the Horde!” she shouts, arms ending in fists and neck straining in her frustration. “She’s infecting you with her crazy, Kyle! How can you trust her when she’s always been pushing us around?”

Kyle shakes his head, letting of Catra’s hand and turning to them. “She’s not crazy, Lonnie! She’s just opening my eyes to what’s always been in front of us. Do you really think anyone here will care if we go out on the battlefield? Do you think _Lord Hordak_ will miss us? Do you think if we lose, _and we’re losing_ , there’ll be a place for us after all the damage we’ve done to the _world_?”

“I. . . Well. . .” Lonnie trails off. Finally, she’s thinking beyond the present and what she can beat down next.

And frankly, it’s hard to envision on this side of the war.

Beside Lonnie, Rogelio tilts his head at Kyle beseechingly, and Kyle fights not to shrink before him.

Kyle needs to do this, not just for himself, but for Rogelio and Lonnie. He needs to convince them, because he’s not sure he can do this without them, and he knows nothing good will come from them staying, as much as he deluded himself into believing once upon a time.

“We’re not wanted here. Not even needed, really, because the way things are going, if we go down we’ll just be replaced by more kids. Do you want that for us? Do you want more kids to end up _like_ us? You can’t tell me that’s what you want.”

Kyle can’t believe he’s standing up like this, projecting his voice, but his back feels straighter than it’s ever been. And maybe that’s it, because after a tense minute of them staring off, of Lonnie and Rogelio parsing through their thoughts, Lonnie lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, running a hand over her forehead.

“When did you grow a spine?”

Kyle lets out a whoosh of air. He did it. “I think I always had it, I just never used it.”

Rogelio lets out a grumbling laugh. Kyle blushes, and Lonnie moves close enough to slug him on his bony shoulder. He winces. Newfound confidence or not, that still hurts. A _lot_.

Lonnie turns her head to Catra who had been watching the proceedings with no small amount of interest. “Listen. We’ll go with you, but we’re going because of Kyle. _Not_ you. The moment you show that you’re the same as always we’ll throw you overboard, former Force Captain or not. So I hope you’ve learned to like the water.”

After that threat, a bulbous tail appears before Lonnie’s face and she backpedals with a yelp. Scorpia’s mouth twists unpleasantly as she looms over Catra’s shoulder to glare at Lonnie. “You’ll have to get through me first.”

Behind her, Emily beeps threateningly, following Scorpia’s lead, and there’s a grumble from something unseen floating in the air. The cadets look around nervously.

“Scorpia, Emily, Melog, chill. It’s fine. Fair, even.” Still, Catra’s ear twitches in displeasure at the thought.

“Melog?”

“My invisible friend.” Catra replies.

Lonnie is about to start yelling again about her being crazy when a spectral cat appears for a brief second before disappearing again. Catra doesn’t so much as bat an eye at when they jump.

“Anyways,” Catra begins again. “You know if you do this there’s no going back to the Horde. I’m going to Beast Island to bring back Entrapta, and we’re going to stop the real leader of the Horde from coming down and shitting on all of Etheria. Are you prepared for that? Again, I’m not going to force you, not in this or anything else ever again, but this is a decision you won’t be able to go back on. We all know what Hordak is like.”

“Does that mean we’re joining the princesses?” Kyle shivers. “The Rebellion?”

Catra grimaces. “I don’t actually know yet, because there’s so much I need to plan for, and I need Entrapta’s help for that part. It could come to that, but let’s just say I’m avoiding it for the time being.”

“You _are_ going to tell us though? What this plan is? What we’re even doing?” Lonnie crosses her arms.

A fang pokes out when Catra smirks this time. “Long story made short; we’re going to save the world. But I’ll give you the details after we get Entrapta and I actually figure them out. Deal?”

Lonnie frowns but concedes with a slow nod. Rogelio steps forward, throwing an arm over Kyle whose cheeks bloom with the flush of blood underneath. The lizardman hisses and grunts, and Catra’s ears flick as she listens. “Then, you’re sure?”

The three Horde cadets share a single look. “I have no idea what he said,” Kyle says, and Lonnie nods along, “But I think I finally speak for all of us when I say, we’re with you.”

Catra breaks out into a smile. When it’s not condescending it’s actually pretty cute, not that anyone here would tell her that besides Scorpia.

“Good. Then let’s set sail.”


	3. for the lack of smooth sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra isn't good at sea, or on Beast Island, and it shows.

Spaceships are much more preferable compared to the standard Horde vessel Catra is forced to endure the next few days on. Space, even, is much more preferable to the sea itself, and Catra is ninety-nine percent—okay, no, positively, absolutely, _completely_ —sure Entrapta would agree.

Catra hangs over the railing though she can’t stand the sight of the waves lapping at the hull. It’s been a bit since her last disastrous journey on water. Unbidden, her mind drifts to the reason, the result, the middling battle that was more just her lashing out than actually serving to complete her mission. Adora always had a way of making her lose sight of what she was supposed to want.

_Love, huh?_

Somehow Catra feels even more sick. She lurches over the edge, mouth pooling with saliva as her body predicts the expulsion of her stomach contents. She just manages to keep it down long enough for the urge to subside. Catra drops her head and her cheek press against the cool bars as she slumps over the railing.

She scratches Adora’s name into the metal.

_Can it really be called love when I only ever hurt her?_

Catra’s always been more self-aware than Adora, aware of her inner workings, aware of what was going on around her. She doesn’t delude herself. She can’t after all that Shadow Weaver warped her mind to love her punisher and loathe her savior. She knows she wasn’t a good person back then—she’s not even sure if she’s one now. She’s always known, even back then when they were little and promising to take the world on together, that the Horde wasn’t good. They were just conquests for the Horde, orphans with no parents who were told they were born for war and glory and _order_.

That last bit actually makes more sense now that Catra’s seen Horde Prime for herself.

But when Adora asked for her to leave, held out her hand, Catra remained still, even knowing that. That was a choice. Her choice.

Why would she choose that when she’s always chosen Adora?

 _Because she didn’t choose me_. Catra can’t quite stop the spiteful thought before it hits her, but she can argue against it. _No, she did—she chose to come back and save me._

And how did she act, after the fact?

Like an ungrateful brat.

 _I don’t think there’s any good in me,_ Catra reflects, swallowing bile. _I’m like spoiled fruit, shiny on the outside, rotten in the middle._ _Why did she choose me, really?_

Just a stray in a box. Not even a spoil of war, just something of convenience coming out of someone else’s neglect, though Shadow Weaver thought more along the lines of _nuisance_.

Catra grits her teeth at the old, always raw wound of a mother who wasn’t. At the new, still weeping incision in her already scarred heart, of _I’m proud of you_ and _You’re welcome._ Everything she did with not even an apology to show for it, and Shadow Weaver expects them to be thankful?

But.

Catra is.

Because she’s _here_.

Catra groans and drags a hand over her face as her insides follow the rocking of the boat, stomach curling. _Stop thinking_ , she scolds herself, and inhales the scent of salt and fish. The sea breeze would be pleasant, if it wasn’t, well, the sea breeze. And if it kept the long hair she had just gotten used to not having out of her face, and not in her mouth. She wishes Melog would have come up with her but even magical cats sleep, it seems.

“Yo, Catra—you like you’re about to fling yourself overboard. Not doing too hot?”

Catra only gives another moan, not bothering to reply to Lonnie. Without Scorpia by her side (she’s keeping Emily company below deck, as she feared the bot would get lonely—and they all feared with Emily’s clumsiness she’d roll right off the ship and sink like a cinderblock into the ocean), and looking like she felt, Catra has no measures to prevent her old squadmates from approaching her.

Rogelio’s actually the most tolerable, because even if Catra’s one of the few who can actually understand him he talks very little, even to his friends. He also isn’t as prone to goading her like Lonnie is.

And Kyle, well. He’s Kyle. Super talk about your feelings type with an edge of depression that could have reached Catra’s if he was just—not him. And more prone to collateral damage.

Depression isn’t always about being sad. Sometimes it’s hurting the world and everyone in it to balance out the pain and loneliness you felt inside.

Or maybe Catra’s just projecting.

But Kyle’s good, actually. Funny even. Catra just never tells him because she typically only laughs at his expense instead of his jokes. Can’t let him get a big head and think Catra had actually liked him back then. But she’s trying to loosen the grip she has on herself and let herself laugh while she can. It makes Kyle smile when he hears it and Catra always has to reminds herself that he’s not making fun of her when he does, but—baby steps.

Anyways. Lonnie. Smug, thick-skinned Lonnie, but with an apoplectic temper only painstakingly shaped by the Horde into a tool to wear down her enemies. Lonnie, who Catra once thought of as a genuine threat to her friendship and affection for Adora. Lonnie, who Catra treated like shit and was rightly shat on in return.

“Going overboard doesn’t sound like a bad idea at this point. Gotta be better than all this rocking.”

Lonnie laughs. “I can give you a push if you want.”

Catra makes a show of leaning back, appraising the sea for all the good it does her seasickness before shaking her head. She does clutch the rail tightly. “No. I actually plan for my death to be much more dramatic. Maybe have an audience that actually appreciates my brilliance. Thanks anyways, though.”

Lonnie steps by her side, turns around and lounges back on the railing. She raises a brow at Catra. “Didn’t figure you for an actor. Hearing that might make someone second guess following you across the sea for a ghost story of an island, you know.”

Catra flashes a fang in a toothy grin. The momentary distraction of bantering with Lonnie is welcome, loosens the feeling of being adrift. Or maybe just helps keep Catra from drowning in her thoughts. Catra isn’t quite sure. “Picked up a few things from the best. An asshole, though I’ve got no room to talk. If you think I’ve got a thing for theatrics and speeches, you haven’t seen—”

Seen Double Trouble.

Right. She almost forgot. The double agent who wore her face. The face of Adora. Scorpia. Hordak, on and on, flipping through their expressions and words like memories on repeat, but adding to them, twisting them.

She has to give DT credit—they know how to put on a show.

“Uh, you good?”

Catra blinks, memories loosening their hold. She shakes her head slightly, as if to dislodge the hooks that the past has sunk into her physically. “Wanna know something?”

Lonnie gives her a queer look. “Sure?”

“I’m a bad friend.”

“We’ve established that already, I think,” Lonnie points out.

“Well, yeah,” Catra continues. “I didn’t realize it, though. It took the best actor I ever met to convince me of something I had trouble seeing. . . Maybe that’s the appeal of plays. Making you believe in something. See something that wasn’t there before.”

“I don’t see how it was hard to see,” Lonnie says slowly, neither retreating at Catra’s self-pity or pressing.

They stand there quietly for some time, Lonnie studying Catra and Catra studying the water.

“. . . I didn’t let myself have friends, besides Adora,” Catra begins again. “Told myself I didn’t need anyone but her.”

“Right.”

Catra looks at Lonnie, but to her credit she doesn’t seem like she’s mocking Catra right now. “We didn’t have any real role models and the Horde isn’t big on the _power of friendship_ ,” Catra brings up her hands to make air quotes, snorting, “as I’m sure you know, so there were no . . . no guidelines. I just did what I did, and Adora would mostly leave me to it unless she felt I crossed a line.”

Catra pauses, running her hand over the scratch she made into the railing.

_A-D-O-R-A._

“And then she left and she was the only real friend I ever had, the only one I let myself have, and I didn’t know how to make others. Didn’t want to. Why make more when they leave?”

Lonnie doesn’t say anything. There’s no comfort from her—she doesn’t say _but you could have had us, she left us too_ —but she’s still not leaving.

“But I think I was losing my mind,” Catra says, kicking her leg behind the other and looking out over the rippling blue-gray horizon. “All that talk I did. All the blustering and being mad all the time, and trying to always one up everyone, be one step ahead. But really, I just. . . I think I wanted to fix something. As if power and being a jerk to everyone around me could fix anything.”

She’s not going to empathize with Shadow Weaver. Even in the end, the witch hungered for it, it wasn’t hard to tell. Shadow Weaver wanted it for the sake of it. From Light Spinner to Shadow Weaver, the woman was always a parasite trying to collect power in her webs. Micah to Adora to Glimmer.

Whatever good Shadow Weaver once had was completely overruled by that greed.

But Catra wanted it for safety. Because she thought she was supposed to want it. Because she thought if she were stronger, Shadow Weaver might treat her like she treated Adora. Catra’s bid for power was only a misguided attempt at security and filling an Adora-shaped void in her heart, she’s realizing.

But what was she to do, when being weak got you hurt and being strong made you so lonely it hurt? What was she supposed to be?

What was she, now?

“I’m so stupid,” is the conclusion she comes to. Here she is talking about her feeling to Lonnie of all people. Out of everyone on the ship, Catra chooses to have her next heart-to-heart with someone who hates her. “Ugh. Gross. I’m going mushy.”

Lonnie scratches the back of her neck, the serious air lightening as Catra strays from her unintended spiel. “It is kinda gross. But I think I like you this way better than I did you clawing me up for this or that.”

“Half of that you deserved.”

“Half of that was instigated by you,” Lonnie insists. She rolls her shoulders then, the picture of innocence. “And the other half was because you deserved it. What can I say, I like to meet people halfway.”

Catra guffaws. “You’re joking, right? Because I recall you jumping in and jumping me plenty of times when I didn’t do a thing to you.”

“I think you know the definition of a grudge better than me. You start it, I finish it.”

“And where does that leave us now, then?”

Lonnie side-eyes her, and this time it’s far less stinky and much more calculating. “We’re still on your move.”

Catra outright cackles.

It’s so squeaky that Lonnie snorts.

 _Progress_ , where she least expects it.

* * *

Catra sits below deck with Melog. It’s two days in, night now, and she’s dressed down in fatigues she found on deck without the Horde’s sigil, her mask tossed elsewhere. She watches Emily skitter around, the AI investigating anything not nailed down by prodding it with her legs, chasing after it if she uses too much force. The vessel is stocked with the essentials—that being rations, spare uniforms, weapons (which Emily likes to kick around a little too much for Catra’s comfort), and the bare minimum of hygiene products, which is not nearly enough when they take into consideration that Rogelio’s skin dries out every so often, or so he says, so he’s close to using up all the lotion.

Catra really thinks he’s just going to start shedding again and is too embarrassed from the first time (which resulted in a bed full of dead skin, and a thin sleeping lizard boy turning into a bulky lizard boy who had ripped his pants in his sleep, according to his bunkmate) to want to say anything. For his sake she doesn’t mention it, though the instinct to bite and humiliate still lingers. She reminds herself something Perfuma told her: habits can be unlearned.

And she reminds herself again when something Emily kicks goes flying and smacks hard into her knee. The AI lets out a siren of a noise, then putters out in fear of Catra’s reaction as Catra hunches over her knee with a low hiss, cradling it until the shock of pain loosens its grip on her.

“Ouch,” Catra intones dryly, after. She takes pride in the fact that Melog doesn’t change color. They look up, tilt their head, and mewl sweetly at Catra’s control. Emily is still shaking in her shell, though, so Catra sighs, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she curls up again.

“Look. I’m not going to hurt you, Emily. I know it was an accident. Just, be more careful, please? For Entrapta’s sake as much as mine. I think she’d like you in one piece when we see her.”

Emily makes a beeping noise that Catra wants to accept as agreement. Satisfied, Catra rubs her throbbing knee a moment longer before picking herself up off the crate she was balancing on to go find Scorpia. She stretches as she exits the room, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

Catra finds Scorpia sifting through the extra supplies that the vessel had accumulated over its numerous assaults under Horde control. Scorpia pinches carefully at everything she pulls out, a lifetime of learning restraint keeping her from rending everything she grabs into tatters. Catra can probably learn a thing or two from her as Scorpia works on cataloguing everything stored on their misbegotten vessel. Most of it’s clothing, some of it’s Rebellion weapons that had been confiscated so they can be smelted down to re-serve the Horde. Anything else doesn’t really register to Catra, who takes up residence behind Scorpia until the former captain notices her.

“Boss! Good to see you! Still holding up okay?”

“My stomach is sitting better. Find any goodies worth talking about?”

Scorpia shakes her head. “It’s mainly just accessories outside of the usual. Not anything really worth talking about . . . unless you want to play dress up?”

Catra smirks and shakes her head at Scorpia’s hopeful expression. “Maybe some other time.”

“Aw, okay. So, what brings you down here Wildcat?”

“I was wondering how much longer until Beast Island.”

Scorpia sits back, raising a pincer to her chin. Her dark eyes “Well, according to the coordinates when I last checked, maybe another day if not less. We’re making good time with the extra help to make sure we don’t veer off course.”

Catra hums. She’s never been to Beast Island herself but the time on a spaceship with three people who had experienced it lends Catra some info to work on, as spotty as it was. They didn’t much go into detail and didn’t spend nearly as long as King Micah traipsing the island. “Do you have any idea what to expect there?”

Scorpia shakes her head. “No, sorry Boss.”

“It’s okay,” Catra sighs, rubbing her face. “I know Entrapta is fine even if we didn’t get to talk much about it. But it wasn’t great from what I heard. The stories don’t really measure up to what’s out there. They told me that there are things there that make you turn on your own self.”

“Really?”

Catra shrugs. “So I heard. We’ll just have to be on guard. I don’t know the half of what’s on that island, or what the First One’s left behind on it.”

“Can’t be as scary as She-Ra?” Scorpia hesitantly throws out.

Catra blinks. “You’re right,” she says slowly, giggling.

Scorpia beams, preening at having gotten Catra to laugh before standing.

That’s when Catra realizes she’s had it too easy.

Just as soon as Scorpia gets to her feet, the flooring beneath them vibrates and there’s a loud, harsh thud that turns the room on its side, hurtling into the wall along with everything Scorpia had been sorting. Catra claws at the wall and spins along it to avoid a Rebellion spear that smacks into it, and Scorpia lets out an “oof!” as a crate pins her. After that, the room rights itself, though there’s a consistent, noticeable rocking added to it.

Catra heaves sickly as nausea returns full force. “What the hell was that?”

Scorpia shakes her head, pushing aside the crate. “I have absolutely no clu— _uwoah_!”

The room tilts to the other side, and Catra tries to hook into the floor as she’s sent skidding back the way she came. She looks up just in time to see the spear making a reappearance, spinning like a boomerang. She lets out a short shriek, a toss-up between rage, frustration, or pure misery as throws herself into the ceiling to avoid it, then swallows the urge to upchuck the last ration she ate.

“What the hell is going on?!”

Just then, her ears twitch back.

Her pupils shrink as she hears it.

All around the ship, a distant but too near whale song serenades the waters, deep and rippling with the depths like an echo.

And then the rush, as the song tears away the walls of the ship like someone peeling away the skin of a boiled egg.

Abruptly, they’re taking on water.

Catra screams to Scorpia as they meet eyes. “Hold your breath!”

The ship breaks in half.

The ocean is like night as it pours in, and Catra hopes, and hopes, and hopes again that the others are alright even as her fur matts down to her body and she seizes like she’s drowning in space all over again. The water is sucked in, and she is sucked out, and she can’t see in this type of darkness where there’s absolutely no light for her blown pupils to take in.

Her body smacks into so many things, things she can’t discern. She loses a good chunk of her already burning breath as she spirals into something that opens up her side and finds a home there. She writhes in the water, claws at the thorn in her body as panic floods her.

It is the spear.

 _I’m going to die_ , she suddenly realizes, so close to the start.

The revelation is bitter.

She screams what little air she has left in the water, frustrated beyond reason. Burning eyes stare into the endless dark.

 _Etheria chose wrong_ , she thinks. _I can’t even stay alive long enough to make a difference._

She feels something part the water around her as her head goes foggy. She stares into the black until she sees why.

Countless white orbs of light appear blink into existence and stare back at her in this abyss. In the beam of these lights, she sees several shadows fleeing, giant worms wiggling out from the pilfered ship like maggots from a carcass.

The sight of the wrecked Horde vessel leaves her broken.

She sags in the water, despairing at the thought of her makeshift squad floating lifelessly within. The darkness is tinged red from the cloud of her own blood blooming into the water, the gouge in her side a bleeding rose.

_It’s all my fault. I just wind up getting people hurt no matter what I do. She should have chosen someone else!_

Tendrils of shadow circle her. The lights blink at her slowly one by one and a single length of shadow coils around her, a hard, yet oily limb she can feel even as her consciousness fades.

She floats listlessly towards this thing in the dark, and the last of her air bubbles out from her nose. She shuts her eyes and hates herself in her last moments, for her death amounting to nothing, saving no one and damning the few she had been willing to help.

 _We will help,_ something whispers in the water faintly.

Catra slips away to the lullaby of the sea.

* * *

“Catra, oh gosh, Catra, wake up buddy, wake up!”

Catra registers spitting out water as something presses harshly on her chest. Something definitely feels broken and she hisses as violently as possible—that is to say, brokenly as water gushes out of her mouth, vaguely gesturing at whoever is threatening to punch a hole through her chest with their compressions with the weak-hearted attempt to claw them.

She cracks her eyes open to the sight of Kyle, frenzied in his attempts to revive her.

“I think she’s having a seizure!” he screams over his shoulder without stopping.

Catra plants her hand on his face and shoves him off, coughing.

“No, I think she’s just trying to get you off of her,” Lonnie comments. She comes over, stepping over Kyle, still dripping from their unscheduled dip in the water. She meets Catra’s eyes and smirks. “So this is what a drowned cat looks like, huh?”

Coughing in bursts, Catra snipes back, “If—the price of living—is waking up to your stupid mug—then I’m not sure if it’s worth it.”

“Rude.”

Catra struggles to look around, heavy with the fatigue of nearly drowning. “Where’s Scorpia and Rogelio? Melog? And what’s that annoying noise?”

Lonnie’s face goes serious. “I don’t know, they probably washed up somewhere else. At least, I’m hoping. And what noise? Kyle?” Lonnie points at Kyle, who’s whining about just trying to help.

“No, the—” Catra grits her teeth as the sound grows, like a fly trapped in her ear. _It’s gotta be the island._ “Nothing.”

“You must’ve hit your head,” Lonnie decides.

They hear something in the distance. Catra can pick out words whereas the others probably only vaguely understand it as a voice.

“You’re a bug, I’m part bug—why’re we fighting? Why can’t we be friends? See, you don’t have to— _woah!_ ”

Catra forces herself to stand. “Scorpia? Scorpia!”

No answer, save for the sound of crashing. From the shore they see the distant foliage shift in a way that indicates a tree falling.

“We’re not . . . going over there, are we?” Kyle asks, tone pleading otherwise.

Catra’s ears swivel when Scorpia yells again.

“Ro, watch out!”

A rattling screech echoes, carrying over to Kyle and Lonnie’s human ears as they flinch.

Catra runs.

“Wait up!” Lonnie protests.

Kyle slumps when Lonnie takes off after Catra. “Oh, so we’re going over there.”

Catra obviously outpaces them. Foliage whips at them as they run, tugging at their clothing now that it isn’t sticking to their skin like the uniforms they wore previously. The signal grows louder in Catra’s ears while the sounds of battle become obvious to Kyle and Lonnie. Kyle’s wheezes increase in frequency with every minute.

They see the beast before they see their errant squadmates. A humongous spider, six legs bending and two poised like blades to impale and cut, more mechanical than organic in nature. Veins of blue outline its joints and they pulse in time with its hiss.

Rogelio is bowed, pressing against his shoulder, and Scorpia is braced in front of him.

“Hey, creepy-crawly! Eyes on me!”

Countless eyes flicker as the spider turns in time for Catra to scour several of them out. It rears back with a screech like rent metal, spindle-legs skittering. Catra falls into a crouch. She glances over her shoulder at Scorpia and Rogelio. Her eyes widen.

“Yeesh, Rogelio. That’s . . . going to take a while.”

Rogelio snorts, hand pressed against the stump where his arm used to be. Catra deciphers his rumbling to mean a very sarcastic, _“What makes you say that?”_

Catra shrugs. “Maybe it’s because I can see your arm _over there_ instead of on you?”

Rogelio chuckles roughly. Green blood oozes between his claws. Kyle squeaks when he sees him while Lonnie whistles lowly.

“Rogelio!”

Rogelio gives him a grimace of a smile, relieved to see him but shaking his head when Kyle moves to approach. Lonnie holds him back as the spider refocuses past the wounds it sustained.

It’s blue lens-like eyes have transitioned to a deep, furious red, the ones Catra scratched fragmented and dull. Catra can see it reevaluate its situation, fangs stretching out slowly.

Then she hears it chitter.

“ _Screeee!_ ”

Catra dodges a swipe from the spider, leaping over its limb on all fours.

Scorpia moves in. “I got your back, Wildcat!” she reminds Catra, raising her pincers to catch the spider’s other leg.

Catra flashes a smirk to answer, focusing on avoiding the spider’s thrashing whilst it struggles to free its leg. Scorpia’s feet drag along the ground, leaving indents in the earth as the spider eventually pulls her off her feet.

“Uh, oh.” Scorpia gives a nervous smile as the spider looks at her. “Can we—can we just _talk_ —"

Scorpia is thrown to the side. Catra winces at the thud she makes against the tree but doesn’t look. The spider is quick and hungry for revenge; it jumps, legs curling inwards and abdomen jerking forward. Wire-like strings shoot out, vibrating with a twang as they hit the ground where Catra would’ve been if she hadn’t sprung away. She tests them on her way around them—her claws can’t cut through them.

 _Nice to know_ , she thinks as it lands where it shot its web-wire. There’s a sticky residue on her claws. _I can’t let that hit me. I’m not doing a rerun of the Crystal Castle._

With the spider distracted by Catra and Scorpia, Lonnie and Kyle have made it to Rogelio, dragging him further to the sidelines. Catra lets her ears flick as they whisper loudly among themselves, glad for their reunion and troubled for Rogelio.

Her tail lashes strongly as the spider rushes her, and she lets it get right up on her before dashing between its legs. She raises her claws and lets it do the work for her—its belly parts with some resistance, and its blood streams out with a smell that’s more like oil than iron. She cringes as it screeches in agony, hobbling away as she emerges from underneath it.

But then it shoots the web again, right as its spinneret passes her.

It hits her like a punch, striking her spine and spreading. She yelps and her reaction is to turn and claw at it but it still goes on, ensnaring her further. Scorpia comes in—pincers clipping it before the spider can yank her forward towards its mouth.

“Go, go!” Scorpia pushes her forward when the spider comes at them again, running after her as a chase begins.

The spider stabs at them like its legs are forks and they’re the entrée. Where it goes a trail of black follows. Scorpia bats away the legs that come too close but she’s only got two to the spider’s eight. The spider soon glances a blow along Scorpia’s hardened shoulder, leaving cracks in the chitin.

Scorpia gasps, flinching as the force makes her misstep and tumble to the ground. The spider hisses triumphantly, already aiming for the kill with its other limb.

Catra hears it while leaping over roots, bounding off trees—does a U-turn in midair and falls onto the back of the giant insect. She raises her hand, claws extended to the fullest.

“I hate spiders,” Catra mentions coldly, and uses her hand like a scalpel, cutting into the top of its abdomen. It quivers with a whine as Catra goes to work, incapable of throwing her off as she works herself elbow-deep into it.

Its wails echo.

It’s different than the machines at Crystal Castle, in that some of it actually feels like flesh, but Catra doesn’t let that stop her—she’s more used to cutting into people than she is breaking machines anyways.

She pulls at its insides, a parasite rearranging its organs, until the pain has driven the thing to the ground and its screams start to crack and die off.

This is what she’s _good_ at.

Eventually the lights of its eyes flicker out, but she’s still tugging at it, tearing.

“Catra?” she hears distantly.

When she comes out, she’s covered in black gore.

“Ew, Catra, did you have to?” Lonnie curls her lip in disgust as she approaches, Kyle “helping” Rogelio behind her, but he lost an arm and not his legs.

Catra hisses, turning to Lonnie, who actually retreats a step when she hears the warning. “What’s with you?”

“Stay away,” Catra warns, low and raspy. Her fingers are flexing, claws extending. “If you know what’s good for you. I’ll just hurt you if you get close to me.”

“Wildcat?” Scorpia moves as though to step forward, but Catra’s chest vibrates so hard with a growl that she doesn’t. “The noise, it’s getting to you, isn’t it?”

Catra’s face twists into frustration. “It’s not stopping. . . It just keeps going on, and on, telling me things I already know.”

“I hear it too,” Scorpia tries to reassure.

“That’s worse!” Catra argues. “You shouldn’t have to listen to it, Scorpia. This is my fault. . . We never should have come here.”

Something chitters above them in the branches. Catra raises her hands to her head and slams her eyes shut, Scorpia and Rogelio abruptly wincing and crying out.

Helpless at the sight of Rogelio in pain, Lonnie storms forward, grabbing Catra, “You’re going to tell me what’s going on, right now, this instant! I’m tired of not knowing! What’s happening? Why the hell are we out here, really, trying to save some princess?!”

Catra opens her eyes.

They’re gray.

“I just . . . wanted to do one good thing,” Catra says dully. “Just one. But I’m not capable of that. How can anyone trust me? How could _she_ look at me and think that I could do save anyone?”

Lonnie gapes. “What?”

Something falls from the tree. It has one glowing red eye, and arms like a mantis. It chitters at them, almost smiling.

Kyle blinks at it, before smiling hesitantly. “Aww, this one doesn’t seem so—”

It moves its hands, exposing many, many teeth, two large off-colored fangs set apart from the rest protruding from the roof of its mouth, and screams at them.

“Nevermind,” Kyle gulps as Rogelio pulls him closer with his only arm.

Scorpia dashes forward as it screeches, many more of its kind falling from above. She picks up Catra, looks at Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio, and says, “Okay, we’re leaving now.”

“Roger,” Lonnie and Kyle answer. Rogelio nods.

But everywhere they run, they’re eventually headed off by the creatures. Their number is astounding, but instead of inspiring awe it begins to build dread.

“Has anyone seen Emily?” Scorpia demands. “Because we could really use her right now!”

No answer is forthcoming, only the slow shakes of everyone’s heads.

“Great,” Scorpia resituates Catra over her shoulder as they charge mindlessly into the forest. With each path blocked and them being made to switch directions, Scorpia’s beginning to get the unsettling feeling its purposeful. “Great. Okay. So, guys, I realize we’re probably being herded but I don’t have any clue of where to go, so. If we die, I just want you all to know it’s been a real treat getting to know you.”

One of the cyclops-like creatures dashes in front of Kyle, who screams like a little girl. Rogelio bashes it with his good shoulder. “Thanks, Rogelio,” Kyle breathes out a sigh of relief.

“We ain’t dying if I have any say in it,” Lonnie scowls, swinging her staff and sending the monsters sailing.

Catra’s head lolls on Scorpia’s back. “You can just leave me. Eating me will distract them. At least then I’d be good for something.”

“Wildcat, no, I’m not doing that. How could you even suggest that?”

“Because I’m a terrible person?”

Kyle pipes up, panting, “I’m beginning to think that’s not true, and it’s probably just because you make bad life choices?”

“Being alive is a bad life choice. Let me correct it.”

Lonnie facepalms. “Shut up already! You got us here so you’re getting us out.”

Catra raises her head. “How? How can I do anything? I just make everything worse.”

Lonnie doesn’t quite know how to argue against that yet. “Well—I dunno. I think you at least did one thing right.”

“And what’s that?” Catra asks.

“Got us to stop believing in the Horde.”

“. . . That was Kyle, not me.” Catra says.

“Okay, _technicality_ , but if you hadn’t gotten Kyle to realize it, we wouldn’t have— _crap_.”

Scorpia was right. They were being herded. Now, on all sides, are the one-eyed monsters, a whole pack of them surrounding them.

Rogelio grunts.

“None.” Scorpia replies.

“I don’t have any either,” Lonnie says reluctantly.

Kyle’s face lights up and he pats his pockets. Then his face falls. “I left my grenades on the ship—which we don’t have anymore—Catra?”

Catra remains boneless over Scorpia’s shoulder, but she at least splays her hands to show they’re empty.

“Well. It was nice knowing you guys.”

As if waiting for them to accept their fate, the creatures finally begin to close in on them, chattering excitedly in thanks for the meal—that is, until a laser tears through the trees and vaporizes several of their fellows.

With a happy chirp, a familiar ex-Horde bot rolls into view, crushing several of the critters in her path. But with her is a bigger robot, and each step it takes thuds heavily.

The creatures flee, for the time being, as the bots settle in front of the haggard group.

“Hello, there!” echoes a voice that has Catra lifting her head, the gray losing some of its hold over her irises. “Oooh, where’s your arm? The injury appears to be fresh but you’re not bleeding. Why is that?”

“Entrapta?”

Catra wriggles, looks over Scorpia’s shoulder, and there Entrapta is, popping through an opening in the bot with a beaming smile.

But then their shadowed eyes meet and uncertainty crosses both of their faces.

“Oh, it’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless self-promotion here: if you go to my profile, you'll find a How to Train Your Dragon fic starring f!Hiccup mooning over a (still female) Astrid—and also if any of you know Rosario + Vampire, there's a fic with a Female OC replacing Tsukune, with a twist.


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